


Little Wolf

by ladyoflaurelindorenan



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 07:48:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4383374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoflaurelindorenan/pseuds/ladyoflaurelindorenan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A speculation on Fenris's origins. Just a short story exploring how he might have come to be a slave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Wolf

It was a summer’s day like any other, and the Dalish clan was busy preparing a feast. It was the summer solstice, a very important day for the elves, and the longest day of the year. Little did the young elf Leto realize it would be the longest day of his life—one he would give anything to forget. 

He was only ten years old, a bright boy with shaggy black hair like obsidian and sparkling emerald eyes. He was often told that he resembled his father, though the two had never met. Leto had learned a long time ago not to ask his mother about his father anymore, but he liked to imagine that he was somewhere, thinking about him. 

His sister, Varania, didn’t seem to dwell on it much. She looked just like their mother—elegant pointed ears that stuck out of her long, deep red hair. She shared the same green eyes as her brother, though that was about as far as their similarities ran. Varania was younger than him by two years, but she was the more ambitious of the two. Where he showed caution, she showed bravery. Where he was quiet and reserved, she was sure to make herself heard. And unlike her brother, she was also proving to be quite proficient in the magical arts. Leto had no magical talent as far as he could tell, and often felt jealous of his sister’s gift. Their mother constantly assured them that they were both equally important, with or without magical ability. 

The two elf children had been watching their mother prepare for her contribution to the feast; a stew of herbs and vegetables, which she was now absent-mindedly chopping up at a makeshift table in a corner of the circular room. Their home consisted of just this one space, with walls constructed from branches and bark. It could easily be torn down at a moment’s notice when the clan decided to relocate and its materials could be used for kindling in a pinch. Despite these temporal characteristics, it was surprisingly sturdy, and to the children, its earthen scent was the scent of home. 

“Run to the stream and fetch some water for the stew,” said their mother in the elven tongue. Everyone in the clan was expected to do their part if they wished to partake in the celebrations later. She was going easy on them by not asking them to do more, and they knew it. 

The two children scampered off without a word, a large brown ceramic jug in tow. The river was located about a half mile from the camp. The path to the water’s edge was well worn from decades of use and meandered through the thick forest. Although the Dalish are a nomadic people, they often revisit the same campsites year after year, where they know the hunting is good and the water clean. Leto was very familiar with this particular path, as they walked to the stream most every day to fill their water jugs and bathe. 

They reached the embankment upon the water’s edge and the little elf boy kneeled down before it, planting his hands firmly upon the precipice of the grassy hill. He leaned forward to peer into the water, though it was moving too quickly to see a reflection. Sunlight danced merrily on its surface and the rushing current seemed to sing. He closed his eyes and felt a mist gently splashing against his face as he inhaled the refreshing scent. When he opened his eyes again, the sunlight seemed to have faded from the surface of the water and a sinister shadow loomed over him. A sudden surge of panic leapt up in his chest, but before he could turn around, he felt a shove in the small of his back and was sent tumbling headfirst into the shallow water. As he flailed and gasped to catch his breath, the sound of raucous, familiar laughter filled his pointed ears. It had been none other than Varania. 

“That isn’t funny! Don’t you know there’s bandits in these woods? And… demons? And _apostates!?_ ” He splashed his hand across the water and sent a torrent at his sister, drenching the sage green dress that she wore.

“You’re too serious!” she laughed. 

“How am I supposed to explain this to mother?” he cried, hoisting himself up out of the water and back onto the grassy embankment. Water dripped from his black hair, which previously had been messy and now stuck to the sides of his head. He ran his fingers through it to shake some of the water out, but to little avail. 

“Oh, I dunno. Just tell her some _apostates_ got you!” she giggled, as he glared. “Oh, you’re just going to change for the feast anyway! Besides, you needed a bath, stinky!” 

She was always teasing him. Shouldn’t he, as the older brother, be teasing _her_? It never seemed to work out when he tried, though. Varania could get away with anything, and he got caught every time. 

“Let’s just fill this thing and go back,” he grumbled, dipping the jug into the water and filling it to the brim. He hoisted the heavy container up with his skinny arms and began walking, sloshing water all the time. “I should make _you_ carry this!” 

The walk back felt a little slower than the trip to the stream had been. For one thing, the water jug was very heavy, and for another, Leto was still stewing over being pushed into the river. Varania kept telling jokes to try to make up for it, but no matter how funny he actually thought they were, he was determined to stay mad. They picked their way down the path, flanked by trees on either side. At times the path disappeared where it twisted around giant oaks, though most of the trees were spindly white birches that creaked in the wind. Except there was no wind now. In fact, everything was silent except for the distant snap of a branch breaking. Leto stopped suddenly, spilling a small amount of the water he carried. 

“Too heavy for you, brother?” Varania japed. 

“Shh!” He set the jug down at his bare feet and stretched a hand out in front of his sister, warning her not to take another step.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“Be quiet!” he said. He took a step forward and strained his ears, listening. The forest was eerily silent. No birds, no squirrels, even the leaves weren’t rustling above them. It was as if the forest was also trying to listen. “Something’s wrong.”

“You’re scaring me,” said the girl in a hushed voice. “I’m sorry I pushed you, ok? Can we just stop this and go home—?”

He turned back to her and put a hand over her mouth. With his free hand, he pressed a finger to his lips, indicating silence. There was another SNAP! in the distance, this time slightly closer. Thinking on his feet, the boy spied a deep trench just a little ways down the path where an enormous tree had been uprooted earlier that year. Its tangled roots stuck out from the side of the hill where it had been felled. “See that pit at the base of the hill just there? I want you to drop down into it and cover yourself with leaves as best you can, ok? And don’t _breathe_.”

She hesitated, but did as she was told. 

Leto glanced up at the trees around him, and finding one with suitable branches, began to climb. Higher and higher he went, silent as a snake, for elves make almost no noise when they’re trying to be stealthy, especially in the forests, where they feel most at home. 

The ascent was easy, and when he felt he had climbed high enough, he peered around. He heard the sound of crunching leaves and did not know whether it was Varania concealing herself or whatever it was that was approaching. He hugged the trunk of the tree he was in and felt grateful for the green tunic that he wore, which offered him some disguise among the leaves.

The sound of the leaves crunching grew louder and he could now tell that it was being caused by footsteps. Not the steps of one person, but of many. At least a dozen, he thought. A figure emerged from the shadows below him, almost a shadow himself. Judging by the man’s broad shoulders and considerable height, he appeared to be human, though his head was entirely obscured by the hood of his dark grey cloak. In his right hand, he held an ornate bejeweled staff, the likes of which Leto had never before seen. The Keeper—the clan’s one and only fully trained mage—carried only a staff in the form of a simple branch, passed down for generations. He must be a mage, thought the boy. He had never seen a human mage before. In fact, he’d rarely even seen a human before. Occasionally, some human hunters would strike a deal with the clan to hunt near the encampment, but such encounters were brief and children were not permitted to talk to the outsiders. 

He watched as more cloaked men stepped forward, their footsteps heavy. Leto wondered at the amount of noise they were making. Elves were small and slight and could move about soundlessly. These men were clumsy, lumbering.

“Halt,” came a booming voice from the first figure. Leto did not understand the language, but he recognized the meaning of the word when the man held up a fist and the rest of his party stopped their advance. The man proceeded to withdraw his hood. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, grim-faced, with a neatly trimmed beard and swept-back hair that was already beginning to turn from brown to grey. Leto instantly disliked what he detected to be cruelness in the man’s eyes. 

“Our scouts reported that the elven encampment should be somewhere around here.” He glanced around at his companions. “What else do the reports say?” he said, seemingly to no one in particular. 

“It is the summer solstice, ser,” came a voice, and another, smaller figure stepped forward. 

An elf! thought Leto. But what is he doing with these mages?

“The Dalish will be ill-prepared for an assault,” continued the elf in a wavering voice. “Too busy making preparations for the celebration, I suspect.” 

The only word Leto recognized was “Dalish.” He was confused, for the elf who had just spoken appeared to be Dalish as well. He had one of the characteristic face tattoos that were a right of passage for the free elven people. Leto looked forward to the day when he would receive his own on his eighteenth birthday. Until then, his face remained pure and unmarked. 

“I do hope you’re right,” said the bearded man silkily. “For your sake.” 

The elf bowed nervously and retreated. 

Leto was growing increasingly uncomfortable. He didn’t know what these men were doing in the forest, but he knew their business couldn’t be pleasant. Between the vile tone of the bearded man’s voice, and the elf’s obvious terror in his presence, he knew he had to warn the clan. He shifted his weight upon a branch and held his breath as a leaf came loose and began to flutter downward.

The elvish scout flicked his eyes upward at the disturbance, the only one on the forest floor observant enough to notice such a small detail. For a brief moment, he locked eyes with the child high up in the tree and Leto thought he saw a subtle nod of the head before the scout looked away again. He let out his breath. 

“Let’s keep moving,” said the bearded man with a wave of his staff, and the mages began walking in the direction of the camp. 

Leto waited for what felt like an eternity before they were out of earshot and he felt safe enough to begin his descent. 

Varania, ever impatient, had already stirred from her hiding place and came running to meet him at the base of the tree. “Who were those men?” she asked in Elvhen. 

“I don’t know,” he said. “But we have to warn the clan. I think they’re planning an ambush.”

★ ★ ★

“They’ll have found the path back to camp by now,” said the boy in a hushed voice. “We have to go around and avoid them. Stick to the trees and try to keep up.” The two children began hurrying through the forest, abandoning the bucket of water that had seemed so important only a moment ago.

They back-tracked slightly in the direction of the stream and began to follow it northward before turning back toward the camp. Their progress was swift; they’d spent the last two months playing among the trees and knew the landscape well. 

When they arrived at the camp, Leto gave a sigh of relief. The mages did not seem to have made an appearance yet. Their mother was just outside the hut where they lived, no doubt wondering what was taking her children so long to complete such a simple task. Her eyes widened at the sight of them. 

“Look at you two! Leto, you’re soaking wet! And Varania, your hair is full of leaves! And you didn’t even remember to bring back the water—”

Leto cut in. “There are strange men in the forest. Mages. I think they’re planning to attack us!”

If it weren’t for the desperation in her son’s eyes and voice, she might have chalked it up to another one of his imaginative stories. He was always daydreaming, and more than once she’d had to awaken him from his fantasies. His conviction was real this time, though, and she instantly believed him. She knelt down and rested a hand on each of her children’s shoulders, a serious expression now etched onto her face. “I’ll warn the others, but I want you two to get somewhere safe.” She thought for a moment. “There’s a wolf den just a little north up the river. The creatures will have abandoned it by now. If you walk through the water, you’ll leave no tracks. If these mages have mabari, they won’t be able to smell you or track you very easily. Turn right at the bend and keep going until you see a small cave. You should both be able to fit. I’ll meet you there when all of this is over.” She hugged them tightly, and before they could say another word, she said, “go.”

Leto hesitated a moment, realizing that this could very well be the last time he laid eyes on his mother. 

“You’ve done the right thing coming to me,” she said as she stood. “I’m so proud of you both. Now _go_.”

Without another word, Leto took Varania’s hand and they started running. Past their neighbors’ huts they went, past tanning racks and cooking pots. The sounds and smells were all so familiar, so comforting. Leto briefly entertained the idea of staying. Maybe the whole thing was just a dream, after all. Suddenly, Varania stumbled and tripped over something on the ground and let go of his hand, nearly taking him with her as she fell. He reacted quickly, bending and offering her his hand again. As he leaned toward her, a bright silver glint caught his eye. He hoisted her back onto her feet and looked in the direction of the brilliant sheen. A simple dagger was sticking straight up out of a wooden table nearby, winking in the sunlight. It wasn’t a weapon; just an ordinary knife used for everyday tasks like carving arrow shafts or gutting fish. Leto cringed at the thought of it being used for fish, his least favorite food, but instinct told him to take the blade regardless. He slid it into the belt around his tunic and the two continued their escape. 

They sprinted between the last remaining huts and past the outskirts of the camp, re-emerging once more under the cover of the trees. Here, the stream was not far off. When they reached it, they splashed their way through the shallow waters until a scream pierced the air. The two of them froze in their tracks. Voices were rising from the camp. Shouts. More screams. 

“Maybe we should go back,” Varania said nervously. 

“No. We have to keep moving. We have to do exactly as mother said. This way. The bend is not far.” Leto took his sister’s hand once more and they continued up the stream. Eventually, they came to a curve in the riverbed that veered to the west and the two of them headed in the opposite direction. The forest was even more dense here. Trees grew very closely together and the massive gnarled trunks of some of them were a testament to their ancientness. It was harder to see the sunlight through the thick, deep green canopy. 

After a time, they came to a slight clearing, and embedded at the base of a hill was a small cave, just large enough for the both of them to fit inside.

Leto turned to his sister. They were both slightly out of breath. Not only had they just run a great distance, but the air in this part of the forest was stifling and thin. Varania looked weary and full of fear. Leto was not used to seeing his usually fierce sister this way. “She’ll be alright, won’t she?” Varania asked. 

“Mother will be fine. She’ll come for us... We’ll all take care of each other,” he said and hugged her.   
They sat down in the mouth of the cave, too afraid to delve any further for the time being. 

“Who were those men?” Varania asked for the second time. 

“Humans. They looked like mages.”

“But I’m a mage! Maybe… Maybe they weren’t bad after all. Not all mages are evil…” She trailed off, remembering the screams from the camp as they fled. 

“I’m sure mother will tell us their purpose when she comes. Let’s just be thankful we made it here. Now all we can do is wait.”

★ ★ ★

Back at the camp, things were not quite so calm. The children’s mother had managed to rouse the alarm, but it was too late. The elves were surrounded on all sides by the mages. A magical ward went up, encompassing the whole of the camp. A few of the mages shouted to each other not to break the barrier; it would serve to hold all the inhabitants of the camp so that they could not escape.

“Close the ward inward,” shouted the man with the finely groomed beard. “Make them cluster together like the cattle they are!” The magical barrier slowly began to shrink in size as the mages stepped forward in unison, their staves held high above their heads. 

“Disrupt the wards!” rang a clear voice from inside the magical shield. It was that of the Dalish Keeper, the appointed leader of the tribe, and the only person fully trained in the use of magic. The Keeper’s First also stood at the ready. The First is the Keeper’s apprentice, in Dalish society. To protect the clan from negative magic, Dalish elves only allow for a Keeper, and a First to practice their craft. Magical ability is suppressed in those they deem less worthy, and others are cast out to seek their own fortunes. The Keeper of this tribe was a wizened woman in her middle age with cascading brown locks of hair. Her age was only betrayed by the silver streaks at her temples, as the tattoos she sported mingled with any fine lines she might have had. In sharp contrast, her First was a young man with a severe cropped blonde haircut. He was tall and gangly, and could not be older than sixteen or seventeen. 

The Keeper and her First took up their staves and the woman looked around and nodded slowly to the other elves. Those with the slightest bit of magical talent were being told that it was alright to use their power to defend the clan. They were unarmed, and uncertain, but they rose their fists defensively anyway. Magic had a way of manifesting itself even in untrained mages. Just like a typically weak person may exert incredible strength in the face of danger, an untrained mage could conjure unheard-of spells when the adrenaline began to pump. 

The Keeper cast the first spell. The other elves crowded back together to give her room as she swept her staff in an elegant arc. A cloud of shimmering blue smoke erupted from her weapon, but the ward remained. The mages were far too powerful. 

“Physical attacks!” the Keeper shouted. “Try physical attacks!” A man stepped forward and threw a small blade into the wall of magic, but the iron instantly melted.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” the Keeper said softly, her amber-colored eyes wide with fear and disbelief. She shook herself. She was the leader of this clan, and the people looked to her for guidance. Her face hardened. “Stand ready. These are no ordinary mages. They must be Tevinter.” She’d had such limited contact with humans and knew less of their politics and cultures, but in her studies of magic, she’d read extensively about the Tevinter magisters, the most powerful—and most cruel—of all mages. 

The man with the crisp beard strode forward, his robes billowing behind him. A breeze played at his lengthy swept-back hair, though the elves inside the ward felt stifled by the air. “I am Danarius. Tevinter magister, as you have so astutely deduced. We do not seek to harm your people. In fact, we’d much prefer you all to remain strong and in good health!” He laughed heartily and looked around at his fellow mages, who were also throwing their heads back in laughter. “Is there one among you who speaks the common tongue?”

“I do,” said the Keeper. She’d only used it with merchants and hunters before. 

“Excellent!” said Danarius, smiling. His icy blue eyes glinted with delight. “And I suppose you’re also clever enough to know why we’re here?”

“Yes,” said the Keeper. Panicked inside, she couldn’t string together a whole sentence in the foreign language. On the outside, though, she remained resolute, proud. 

Danarius folded his hands behind his back and began pacing around as if he was on a pleasant stroll. “We have a shortage of slaves in Tevinter… But you, on the other hand… You appear to be abundantly rampant!” Another wave of chuckles sounded from the magisters. 

“We will not be enslaved!” came the Keeper’s voice, stronger now. She gripped the shaft of her oak branch staff a little tighter. 

“Oh, you won’t be enslaved, of course!” said Danarius. “I’ve got other plans for you! Wouldn’t want to waste so much magical talent, after all.” The magisters valued magic over anything else. Mage slaves were sometimes put to work as researchers, but many of these slaves actually became the subjects of magical experiments, especially when their usefulness was deemed expired by their masters. “Take the mage bitch first, subdue her. And her apprentice.”

Two magisters stepped forth to carry out the command, but as they strode forward, the ground beneath them began to tremble. The Keeper was shaking violently. The staff fell from her hand and rolled away, and it was clear to all who looked upon it that it was now covered in blood. A bright red wound glistened on the Keeper’s hand where she’d made the incision. 

“What are you idiots doing!?” roared Danarius. “She’s becoming an abomination! Stop her! Lower the wards! She must be stopped!” He spun on his heel and knocked one of the mages holding the ward with his staff, interrupting the spell. The man had been concentrating so hard, he hadn’t even noticed the Keeper now beginning to transform. 

The sight before them no longer resembled the small elven woman. Instead, her slight frame gave way to a gruesome visage. Shadows erupted and flames burst forth. Her noble face melted and gave way to a horrifying countenance. She grew and grew until her form stood several feet above the people. 

Danarius struck the first blow. He sent a chill wave of ice at the creature, but it barely staggered the flaming shade. It gave a horrible, deafening cry that forced many of the elves to cover their long pointed ears. 

The mage sent another blast and chaos erupted as the elves realized what was happening. Their Keeper had resorted to blood magic in order to save them. She had become a demon. They clambered away from the abomination, rushing at the magisters surrounding them. Those who still had weapons led the attack. 

Leto and Varania’s mother emerged from the fold and saw the Keeper’s bloodied staff lying on the ground. She had been born with signs of magical talent, much like her daughter, but had eventually learned to suppress her gift. She’d never even held a staff before, but saw that this was her opportunity. She took a deep breath and sprinted toward the weapon, which was lying at the feet of the shade. In one deft movement, she snatched it up, narrowly missing a whip of flame that lashed out from the evil creature. She dashed away again, feeling the power inside the wooden staff emanating. She didn’t know what she was doing, but instinct drove her. She turned toward Danarius, closed her eyes, and let the magic channel through her. A comforting wave of warmth surged through her body and exploded at her fingertips. The spell climbed up through the gnarled branches at the top of the staff and burst outward. A blindingly bright white light shot out all around her, so powerful that it knocked back everyone in the vicinity, men and elves alike. She staggered from the force of the spell, feeling drained, shocked, and excited all at once. 

Danarius had remained on his feet, but was visibly shaken nonetheless. He regained himself, flipping back a lock of hair that had fallen out of place. He rounded on Leto’s mother, who seemed astonished at her own power. He let out a laugh that turned into a snarl and aimed a spell directly at the elf that bound her where she stood. She was frozen. Danarius smiled at his triumph, but his victory was short-lived. 

“Keep them wrangled, but focus on destroying the demon!” he barked. 

Several of the magisters surrounded the shade and unleashed their attacks. Together, they summoned a freezing cold blizzard that began to extinguish some of the flames. Great black clouds of smoke began to billow from the monster as it cried out in agony. The rest of the mages focused on containing the crowd of retaliating elves. Many were killed in the scuffle, the rest herded together. The demon raged on and swiped at its attackers, but its defenses began to weaken until its flames burned out. A single blast of electricity was all it took to end the vile creature, the last remnant of the Keeper. 

“Kill the old and feeble. Shackle the rest,” Danarius ordered. The magisters had won the day. They would have at least a hundred new slaves to sell in Tevinter. They could even choose which of the elves to keep for their own before putting the rest on the market. 

Danarius strode toward Leto’s mother, who was still rooted to the spot, clutching the Keeper’s staff. Her hands were covered in the Keeper’s blood. He towered over her, his grey eyes gleaming, with what, she could not tell. In an instant, he swung his staff with an upward thrust and the branch that she held was disintegrated. “So…” he began slowly. “You think that you can just dabble with the arcane arts whenever you fancy…? With no training at all?” He paused. “Do you know how many years of study it takes to become a magister? Mages are plentiful, but in Tevinter, we are masters of magic.” He leaned in close, his gaze intense. He was clearly trying to intimidate her. Without glancing away, he called to the scout slave that had accompanied him through the forest. “Shackle this woman.” The elvish slave did as he was told, not making eye contact with the woman as he fitted her legs with the heavy enchanted manacles. The iron would have been enough, but the magic imbued in them would ensure beyond a doubt that no slave would ever be able to get away. Leto’s mother gazed sadly at the slave as he bound her hands next, but he still did not return her gaze. 

“I admire strength,” Danarius said at length. “I should kill you for your insolence… but such strength does not deserve to be squandered. That is why I grant you your life. You should be grateful.” Evidently the spell she’d mustered had been impressive. 

She remained silent. All she could think about at that moment were her children. Were they still safe? Had she completely failed them? No, she thought. They escaped this. She glanced around at the carnage. Dead elves were everywhere. To her dismay, no mages lay among them. 

“What are your orders now, ser?” asked one of the mages.

“Raid the camp for supplies, and send out a few scouts. I want to make sure this place is safe if we’re going to spend the night. We’ll make camp a little north of this mess to avoid the stench and set out in the morning.” Danarius issued the orders briskly. 

A couple of hours passed and the magisters had already set up a decent encampment barely a mile away from the destruction. The elves were all bound together by their shackles and a tight watch was kept on them. 

“My lord,” the elvish scout said breathlessly as he returned from his mission. He bowed low and continued, “I return with strange news. We caught no sight of anything at first, but… then we noted some footprints a little further out. They disappeared along the river and then appeared again along the other side. I think they may be escapees from the camp. Children by the look of it.” 

Danarius almost pitied the way the elf was trying to hide the way he struggled to breathe. He must have run more than a mile to deliver the news. “You’ve done well,” he said, and the elvish scout looked slightly frightened at the compliment. “I will go after these children—if that’s what you say they are—myself. Rest until I have further need of you.” Danarius could be a cruel man, but his slaves were his assets. An overworked slave was no good to him. He knew too many magisters in Tevinter who would work their slaves to death and then complain about having to purchase and train new ones. He also knew that children were the most desirable on the slave market. They could fetch prices ten times higher than the adults. They were easy to break, and just as easy to manipulate. Some could even be persuaded to love their masters, having not known any other life. “If I do not return within the hour, send out a search party,” he said, and with that, he ventured off into the woods, alone.

★ ★ ★

Varania shivered. It was beginning to get cold as the sun began its slow decline. Leto put his arm around her protectively where they sat at the mouth of the small cave. Tears began to well in his sister’s eyes. It had been hours since they’d fled.

“Don’t lose hope,” Leto said encouragingly. “You’re supposed to be the fierce one, remember?”

She smiled slightly, but it quickly faded and she was overcome with a look of fear.

“What’s wrong?” Leto asked. 

“I just heard a noise.”

Leto looked around, but there was nothing but shadows as the day disappeared. 

“I thought maybe it was mother,” Varania said sadly, and she drew up her knees to her chin. 

But just then, there was a noise. They both heard it this time. Leto leaped up and slid the dagger from its hiding place. He brandished it with one hand and attempted to shield his sister with the other. 

Out of the gathering gloom slunk a magnificently white wolf. Its fur was brilliant against the darkness that was pressing in all around them. It was taller than Varania, though it didn’t seem to be quite as ferocious. It regarded them both with its silvery eyes, but it did not advance. 

Leto stared at it, holding the knife aloft. It glinted in the fading sunlight, but the wolf did not back down. It made no movement whatsoever. Leto slashed the empty air. The creature still did not stir. It simply stared at him, its soft breathing the only sound he could hear. He felt strangely calm in the presence of this animal, and slowly began to lower his weapon. Almost instantly, the wolf took a step forward. Varania gasped, but something drove Leto forward. He stepped closer to the beast. It padded softly towards him. He took another step, then another, being driven by some invisible force, until he was kneeling before it. He loosened his grip on the dagger in his left hand until he let go completely, though his hand continued to hover over the blade. It fell with a gentle thud near his thigh. He slowly began to stretch his right hand toward the wolf’s head. It made no indication that it might be hostile. It just continued to stare at him unblinkingly with its eyes like moonlight. Finally, Leto’s trembling hand came to rest gently on the muzzle of the wolf, and he felt himself overtaken by a strange sensation of calm and fearlessness. He imagined it must be how the wolf felt. For a moment, he reveled in the connection, forgetting his sister, forgetting the mages. He had never felt such complete comfort in his life. 

The moment was cut short, however. No sooner had Leto made contact with the wolf, than a voice rang out from the shadows. 

“It’s alright, child,” came Danarius’s voice. He clearly hadn’t noticed Varania. “I am here to take you back to the camp.” 

They could not understand the words, but the man was clearly trying to sound friendly and failing dismally at it. Leto recognized him as the mage leader from before. 

At the sight of Danarius, the white wolf began a low growl. 

“I’ve no quarrel with you, dog,” spat Danarius, and with that, the wolf lunged. 

The mage reacted swiftly. With a flourish, he spun his jeweled staff and struck it to the ground. A bolt of purple and white electricity erupted forth and struck the wolf, felling it instantly. 

Varania shrieked from her hiding place at the mouth of the cave, unintentionally calling the mage’s attention. 

“Ah, so there are two! Come with me and I’ll make this easy,” he said and stepped toward the cavern. He stooped over Varania as she scrambled toward the back of the cave, but there was nowhere for her to go. She was utterly trapped. 

Leto took one last glance at the courageous wolf now lying limp before him, and made up his mind. He would protect his sister, even if it meant death. He grabbed the dagger and rushed at Danarius, leaping full force onto the man’s back and stabbing him in the shoulder with all his might. Bright blood gushed forth from the wound and the man staggered, snarling with rage. He twisted and knocked the young elf to the ground. Leto quickly kicked at the dirt to crawl towards his sister, as the mage grasped the dagger and pulled the blade from his back. “ENOUGH!” he shouted and with a swoop of his staff, he shot forth magical bonds to wrap around their ankles and wrists. He would be able to hold them in this way until they reached the camp, where they would be bound like the others. With another wave of his staff, he forced them to their feet. The wound in his shoulder was bleeding profusely, though it was nowhere near fatal. He tore off his cloak and let it drop to the ground beside the white wolf. 

With another spell, he forced the children to begin marching in front of him. “I will not soon forget this, little wolf,” he said to Leto. “And neither shall you…” He paused, thoughtful. “Little wolf… In your language that’s… Fenris, isn’t it?” The boy glanced back at his captor, recognizing the Dalish word. “That shall be your slave name… Forget what you were, for that life no longer exists. From now on, you are Fenris, and you are mine.” 

They continued on back to the camp, the last light of day disappearing completely.


End file.
